


Operation Lovecraft

by Vae



Category: Green Men Series - K. J. Charles
Genre: Body Horror, M/M, Stealth Crossover, Tentacles, World War I
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-16
Updated: 2018-12-16
Packaged: 2019-09-20 07:22:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,219
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17018262
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vae/pseuds/Vae
Summary: In which Barney learns that volunteering isn't always optional, and the consequences thereof are somewhat unpredictable. Everything's a bit less awful with Isaacs around.Isaacs moved back to the opening, holding the kettle outside to catch rain to rinse it out. "Ranks, officers... anyone healthy. Special mission."A special mission could mean anything, and usually with a higher casualty rate than the front lines, but the promise of escaping the trenches and the rain would tempt plenty of men. Still... "Don't," Barney said impulsively.Isaacs glanced up, eyes bright under his cap. "Don't you worry, sir. I'm not going anywhere."





	Operation Lovecraft

**Author's Note:**

  * For [potted_music](https://archiveofourown.org/users/potted_music/gifts).



Rain.

More bloody rain.

Captain Hugh Barnaby was beginning to wonder if it ever did anything in France except rain. Thanks to the soaked mud weighing down on the few planks that attempted to hold a makeshift ceiling to their dugout, it was even raining inside what was meant to serve as shelter. It was raining less, admittedly, but it was still raining.

Sheltering one of his last precious cigarettes with one hand, he dragged a lucifer across the rough wood, capturing the flame before dampness could sputter it out again, and drew in deeply. He'd heard that the smoke would discourage fleas, but he'd also heard that damp could discourage them. The French fleas didn't seem to have heard the same thing.

A slithering thump from outside had him fumbling for his pistol, cigarette clamped firmly between his lips, adrenaline sluggish but still enough to push his heartbeat faster, anticipation holding him tense until the familiar face of Corporal Isaacs appeared in the rough opening. "How many blasted times do I have to tell you to give the signal? I might have shot you."

Isaacs seemed untroubled, and mostly covered in mud, reaching inside his coat. "You wouldn't have heard it anyway. Sir."

It was true, but entirely beside the point. "Are you telling me that you did give the signal, Corporal?"

"If it makes you feel better, sir." Isaacs grinned, holding up a kettle. "This will, though. Got some fresh tea from Captain Box's trench. Hot from the guns."

That was almost worth overlooking procedure. It was absolutely worth overlooking the insubordination, which Barney had come to understand was Isaacs' usual form of communication and not any form of disrespect. He'd noticed that Isaacs didn't try it with any other officers. "Captain Box gave you that?"

"Nah." Isaacs shook his head, finding Barney's tin mug and shaking it out before pouring tea into it. "But Private Jackpot did. He owes me a favour."

Barney decided that discretion was the better part of valour, and did not inquire about the nature of the favour. "Well, jolly good of him to share it."

"He owes me," Isaacs repeated darkly, filling his own mug as well. "Rations just came up, too."

That meant sugar, and even powdered milk. Despite the cold and the relentless rain, Barney felt warm enough to smile at Isaacs. "All the luxuries of home."

Isaacs huffed into his collar, shaking milk powder and sugar into Barney's mug before handing it over. "Yeah, I've heard that about Eton."

"Finest education the country can offer," Barney said, feeling the need to defend his alma mater from the implied insult. Not much of a need, because there was genuine warmth coming from the mug in his hands, and that was a blessed relief. "Anything else from Captain Box?"

Isaac poured the rest of the tea into his flask and screwed it closed, not looking up. "Heard there's a colonel looking for volunteers. Gets you off the front line, Charlie said. For weeks."

Cold ran down Barney's spine, icier even than the rain. "Just from the ranks?"

"Charlie said anyone they can get." Isaacs moved back to the opening, holding the kettle outside to catch rain to rinse it out. "Ranks, officers... anyone healthy. Special mission."

A special mission could mean anything, and usually with a higher casualty rate than the front lines, but the promise of escaping the trenches and the rain would tempt plenty of men. Still... "Don't," Barney said impulsively.

Isaacs glanced up, eyes bright under his cap. "Don't you worry, sir. I'm not going anywhere."

None of them were, and that was the whole bloody problem with the war. Still, Barney sipped his tea, and told himself that the warmth he felt was entirely due to that, and nothing else.

~~~

"Ah, Barnaby." The colonel looked up with an affable smile. "Nice of you to make time."

As if he'd had any choice, when the colonel's driver had turned up with orders to bring him back. Barney did his best to return the smile as he held his salute, body grateful for the dry warmth of the room even as something in the back of his mind raged at the comfort and size of the space reserved for the use of one man, and only for work at that. "Of course, sir. At your service."

"Yes. Yes you are," said the colonel, steepling his hands on his desk and looking up at Barney. "At ease, man. Have you heard of Lovecraft?"

Barney folded his hands behind himself and tried not to squeeze them too tightly together, aware that the secretary across the room would be able to see. "I'm not married, sir."

The colonel barked a laugh. "No, Barnaby, I'm sure you're not. Far too young for all that nonsense. No, no, I mean Operation Lovecraft."

It had to be the special mission Isaacs had mentioned. Barney thought rapidly, assessing the best way to answer. There was a true answer, and there was the politically advisable answer, and Barney was a terrible liar. "Not by name, sir."

"Not by name, eh?" The colonel pursed his lips. "Write that down, Macintosh. Well, you're a bright enough spark, captain, and that means you've heard something. Rumours, are there?"

Barney swallowed hard, looking straight ahead of him, chin raised. "That you've been looking for volunteers for something, sir. Nothing more."

"Indeed I have." The colonel stood up, coming back into Barney's line of sight. "So you put two and two together and came up with Lovecraft, did you?"

"Never heard the name before you said it," Barney said, voice carefully even. "Made a guess, sir. Apologies if I overstepped, sir."

The colonel grunted. "Suppose I can't get volunteers without the men hearing there's something to volunteer for. Well, running a bit short on numbers, so you're going to volunteer for it. Put a bit of a shine on your record, what? Might even be medals in it."

Right. Well. Barney couldn't pretend he hadn't suspected it was coming, polite smile plastered on his face as his heart sank. "Thank you, sir. My, ah, my men, sir?"

They'd need a new officer. Captain Goss wasn't much use without more support than his lieutenants could give, although that message had almost certainly never reached back to the colonel's office. Barney spared a moment to think of Isaacs and his insubordination, and his resourcefulness, and his bright, bright eyes.

"What? Oh, yes, good idea." The colonel nodded to his secretary. "Make a note, Macintosh. Captain Barnaby's men to be added to the volunteer list."

Helpless to object, Barnaby stood rigidly at ease and tried not to be sick.

~~~

In years to come, Barney did his utmost not to remember any of what had happened in the processing centre far behind the lines. There were, of course, certain unavoidable reminders, and certain unavoidable nightmares, but that was what heavy bolted doors in the attic were for.

~~~

Passchendaele was no less wet than the Somme had been, but Barney barely noticed the weather. He barely noticed anything between being prodded out of the van at the front and falling back into it again, huddling up next to Isaacs, both of them curled into a corner to lodge themselves into place and prevent themselves from being thrown around as the van bounced over ruts and ridges in the mud. 

Inside the van, mud was mixed with blood and the lingering stench of fear. No one else wanted to be close enough for either Barney or Isaacs to reach, and no one seemed to be quite sure how far either of them could reach if they tried. Barney certainly wasn't sure. All he'd had to do was think about reaching, thoughts beyond his control, horrible, unexpected, vicious thoughts, and his, his... _things_... had flashed out, stretching much further than his arms could reach, and then there had been blood and fierce, hot satisfaction. 

Now, there was cold and nausea, only partly caused by the jolting of the van. Barney fitted himself closer to Isaacs, sliding a tentative hand over Isaacs' sleeve and feeling relieved when it remained a hand. "Isaacs?"

Isaacs didn't respond. Possibly Barney had been too quiet to be heard over the rumble of the van's engine, although his own hearing was acute enough to hear the thump of Isaacs' heart racing. Maybe it had taken Isaacs differently. Barney hadn't asked, and it wasn't the time. 

"Isaacs?" Barney repeated, louder. "Max?"

Isaacs groaned, turning his head to look back at Barney through a mask of drying mud and blood. "Sir?"

"I think," Barney said tentatively, "that under the circumstances, you might call me Barney."

Isaacs bent his head down again, spitting blood onto the already filthy floor of the van, and braced his foot against one of the bolted down benches. "Barney Barnaby? 'S a fucking stupid name. Sir."

"Well, yes, it would be," Barney agreed, relieved beyond measure at a coherent response. "My actual name's Hugh. Hugh Barnaby. Pleased to meet you."

"Bloody hell." Isaacs shifted position, half-sitting, arm locked around Barney's to keep both of them securely lodged. "I'd go by Barney, too."

"Grandfather's name," Barney said, feeling light, then yelped as the van hit another ridge and they both bounced and instinct... instinct did what instinct now knew how to do.

Isaacs stared up at the tentacle that was wrapped around a rail in the van, then back at Barney. "How did you...?"

"I don't know," Barney admitted, took a shallow breath, and decided not to uncurl his tentacle just yet. It was, after all, keeping them safe. "Do you?"

Isaacs shook his head slowly. "It just sort of happens. When I want it."

"To me too." Trying to explain it would be like trying to explain how to bend his finger, or how to catch a ball, or how to make his heart beat. "That's not very good, is it?"

At least he wasn't alone, though. As awful as it was that this had been done to Isaacs as well, Barney was still terribly, selfishly grateful that he wasn't alone.

~~~

"Try it again." Barney ignored the sound of the door opening behind him, and picked up a fresh ball with one of his tentacles, careful not to crush it this time, holding it for a moment before flinging it in Isaacs' direction. No one ever wanted to talk to them, just observe, as if they were zoo animals, or a scientific experiment. Well, he supposed they were a scientific experiment, but they were people as well, damn it.

Isaacs whipped out one of his own tentacles towards the ball and neatly sheared it in two again, face crumpling in frustration. "I don't think they work like yours, sir."

"Barney," Barney said, because be damned to rank, whoever was observing them this time. It wasn't like either of them would be court-martialled now. "They do, it's just practise. Look."

He picked up another ball from the rapidly diminishing pile, took a breath to aid his concentration, and tossed it in the air, flexing to shift the shape of his tentacle before using that to slice the ball in half as it dropped back down. "See?"

Applause from behind interrupted him and Barney whipped around, temper close to snapping, tentacles sharp as he fought to keep them from sliding towards the bars that couldn't keep either of them contained if they were determined to get out. " _What?_ "

"It's impressive," drawled a man's voice. Someone new. Someone in uniform, an officer, but an unfamiliar uniform, not quite right for the army. "So you're Lovecraft."

"He bloody well isn't," Isaacs growled, moving up besides Barney. "He's Captain Barnaby."

"Oh, I meant both of you," the stranger said. "That must make you Max Isaacs, then. Sorry, _Corporal_ Isaacs."

"And you are?" Barney prompted. His temper wasn't controlled enough for him to withdraw his tentacles, not yet, but he could at least keep them back from the bars, and he could just about keep his shock from showing to the unknown man when one of Isaacs' tentacles settled alongside one of his own, not sharp at all.

"Randolph Glyde." The stranger gave a half bow towards the bars. "Delighted to make your acquaintance. May I come in?"

The name meant as little as the face did. Barney glanced at Isaacs, startled to see recognition and resentment in Isaacs' expression. "You know him?"

"Of him," Isaacs said shortly. "He's a sodding arcanist. He's with them."

"Then I think you'd better stay outside the bars, Mr Glyde," Barney said, not even attempting to guess the man's rank or caring that it was an insult to omit it. "You and your lot have done quite enough, I'd say."

"You don't know the half of it," Glyde said, not moving towards the bars. "Look, whatever you're thinking, I had no part in what was done to you. To any of you."

"Said that to the others as well, have you?" Isaacs asked. "Been round telling us all it wasn't you what did it?"

Glyde looked surprised, then angry. "What the... you mean they haven't even told you? No, Christ, I suppose they wouldn't. The idiots."

"Told us what?" Barney took a deep breath, willing himself to calm. Calm down. Keep control. 

"There aren't any others," Glyde said, looking steadily first at Barney, then at Isaacs. "No one else survived. Oh, Jesus!"

~~~

The new containment cell was bigger, with two rows of bars twelve feet apart between Barney and Isaacs and the passage that ran along from the door to the outside world. It was colder as well, and Barney had absolutely no shame about curling up behind Isaacs for warmth, both blankets pulled over both of them as they tried to sleep. No books, no games, no news, just the irregular deployments to the front and returning to the cell, each time more aware of what he'd done. 

Barney lost track of time. Lights on, lights off, food, killing, washing, more food, more cold, days and weeks and months blurring into each other. His only constant was Isaacs' steadfast company, contact keeping him sane when the only other people he touched were the men he killed.

Until Glyde came back.

Glyde was accompanied by several terrified-looking men in khaki, the same not-quite army uniform that Glyde himself had been wearing for his first visit. Barney's first assumption was that they men were for Glyde's protection, until Glyde snatched the keys from them and waved them away. "You're not celebrating, Captain?"

Barney, all his tentacles withdrawn and appearing, as best he could tell, entirely like a man who hadn't been allowed access to a razor for several weeks, took a few paces closer to the bars, ignoring the way the uniformed men cowered away as he moved. "Why exactly would we be celebrating?"

Glyde glared at the men, fitting the key into the lock of the outer set of bars and sliding the gate open with no apparent fear. "Armistice, Captain Barnaby. The war's over."

Behind Barney, the bed creaked as Isaacs sat down on it. Barney rather wished he had something to sit down on himself. The end of the war, the end of... fighting? No, surely not. Not for him. 

Glyde unlocked and opened the second set of bars, leaving both gates wide open. "Congratulations. You're being de-mobbed."

"Likely story," Isaacs growled.

Barney looked back. Isaacs was back on his feet, tentacle free, moving up to stand next to him. It was almost a shame not to have tentacles just then, as no one seemed to notice if their tentacles were touching, but words would certainly have been had if they'd been holding hands. "Inelegantly put, Isaacs, but I do agree with the sentiment."

Glyde smiled, and there was something not quite pleasant about it. "Army paperwork, gentlemen. Lovecraft was never officially on the books, so Corporal Max Isaacs and Captain Hugh Barnaby were never officially re-assigned from their regiments. So when your regiments were de-mobbed, so were both of you."

Something dimly like hope tried to rise in Barney's chest. "Wait, you mean it?"

"No, he doesn't," Isaacs said. "Can't, can he? Army's not going to let us go."

"The army has no choice, Mr Isaacs," Glyde said smoothly. "The army has already let you go. The government might wish to, ahem, employ you, but at this moment, neither of you has any obligation to the government or to the army, so might I suggest you take advantage of that?"

Barney took a cautious step towards the open gate. Then men in the passage fell back again, but made no move to stop him. "Well, I wouldn't mind breathing a bit of fresh air again..."

"Oh, it's filthy with fumes out there," Glyde said cheerfully. "All the troop transports and so forth. Everyone being ferried off to stations to get on trains to the ferries and more trains. Not very fresh, I'm afraid."

"Fresher than in here." Isaacs moved up beside Barney, then passed him, all the way to the first gate. To Glyde.

Glyde, solemnly and with no hesitation, offered Isaacs his hand. "Thank you for your service, Mr Isaacs."

Isaacs stared at Glyde's hand as if he expected that to sprout tentacles, too. "You know what I am?"

"What we are," Barney added quietly, following.

"Haven't the foggiest," Glyde said with a smile. "I'm not sure you do, either. But I know what you can do, if that's what you mean."

Carefully, Isaacs placed his hand against Glyde's. Glyde closed his hand around it, giving it a brisk shake. "Thank you, Mr Isaacs."

Barney stared at their joined hands, trying to suppress the entirely ridiculous urge to weep. "We're not safe around the men, Mr Glyde."

"Do try not to be stupid, Mr Barnaby," Glyde said, let go of Isaacs' hand and offered his to Barnaby instead. "You've been around the men plenty of times, and it's considerably safer for everyone now that it was on the bloody battlefield. I suspect that as long as they're not trying to kill you, you won't be a danger to them, either."

Barney took his turn in staring at Glyde's hand, then looked up at Isaacs, who nodded.

"I don't trust you, Mr Glyde," Isaacs said, and there was a weight on Barney's shoulder. Isaacs' hand, warm and solid and very, very human. "But I trust him."

"You're a fool," Barney said automatically, and took Glyde's hand. It was warm and dry and in much better condition than his own.

"Might be," Isaacs agreed, patted Barney's shoulder, and let go. 

"Thank you for your service, Mr Barnaby," Glyde said, shaking Barney's hand. "Now, might I suggest we get out of here before the department realises what they've actually done?"

"You mean this isn't official?" Barney asked, startled. 

"Oh, it's very official," Glyde said, and this time his smile was much closer to a grin. "But if we give them time, the department will find something else official to do, so how about you two join me in my motor and we'll see how fast we can get to the port?"

Barney looked at Isaacs.

Isaacs looked at Barney.

"Well," Barney said, "I don't suppose we've got anything better to do."

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, Allied soldiers did actually make tea with water hot from cooling Gatling guns.
> 
> Thanks to TexasDreamer01 for the beta.


End file.
